At midday, the sun rose high above their heads. They had been traveling all morning. Graden followed Ella’s lead toward the thicket, trusting her even though some of the peasants he had spoken with earlier had suggested searching the hills.
He had never been certain there were others looking for the rose until Ella told him what the witch wanted as payment from her. Now, he knew his time was running out. He would never give up the search for finding the rose, his payment to the witch. It was his duty, his mission. He had to pay the witch for her potion to cure his father, no matter how long it took.
His horse lowered its head. Graden saw the sweat running down the animal’s neck. He hated to stop, but the horses needed to rest. Graden spurred his steed so it was beside Ella. “The horses need to rest.”
She stopped the mare to look around. “There,” she pointed to the distant ridge. “There is a stream there.” She turned her horse and headed in that direction.
Graden followed. When they came to the top of the slopping hill, Graden saw the small stream. It was wide enough for the horses to get drink and nearby trees provided a shaded spot to rest.
Ella slid from her mare and led it to the stream. She patted its side and allowed it to drink.
Graden swung his leg from his steed and followed her lead. “Where did you say we should look for the blue rose?”
“The thicket just over the ridge near the river. A lot of wild flowers and wild roses grow there. And the abandoned farmhouse on the northern edge of my lands near the waterfall.” She shook her head. “Truthfully, wild roses can grow anywhere there is sunshine. Always keep your eye open for it.”
Graden looked off into the distance. He didn’t know where either of these places were, but he was certain he could find them if he asked the villagers. He looked at her. “You should return to the castle. I can find the rose. Miles will be worried.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes flashing. She lifted her chin. “I’m going with you. So, don’t try to get rid of me. I sent word to Miles where I was.”
Graden frowned. How had she gotten word to her brother? He had been with her the entire… Realization struck him. The stable boy! “Why?” he demanded. “Why are you suddenly interested in helping me?”
Ella looked away from him, gently patting her mare. “I would like to find this blue rose, also. As I said, my mother often spoke of it.”
“Ella,” he called imploringly. “Please tell me you didn’t make a deal with the witch.”
Silence settled around them.
Graden silently cursed. He knew it! “You’re looking for the rose, too, aren’t you? For payment.”
“I’m looking for it,” she acquiesced.
He sighed and leaned back against a tree, staring up at the clouds. “Part of me doesn’t regret the deal I made with her. I had two years with my father.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “But part of me wishes I had never made that deal. She took my life.”
Ella turned to him, shocked.
“I’ve spent every free moment searching. No time to fall in love. No time to start a family or see to my lands.”
“Why don’t you just… stop looking for it?”
He chuckled but there was no humor. “I wish I could. It weighs on me, consumes my every thought. It is a debt I must pay.”
Ella turned back to her mare. She ran a comforting hand over the brown hide.
His gaze swept her, summing her up. Stubborn; she would never stop looking for the rose. Pleasing to look at; curves hidden beneath her velvet dress and her long, dark hair hanging in waves around her shoulders and down her back. He could easily get used to having her near him, by his side.
Ella lifted her gaze and for a moment, they locked eyes. Caught off guard, Graden saw a vulnerability in Ella’s blue eyes. A strange need arose in him, softening his defenses for just a moment before she lifted her chin, almost daring him to… What? What did she want of him?
He pushed himself from the tree and moved to his horse, pulling the supply pack from its back. When he looked back at her, she was kneeling at the side of the stream to splash water on her face and over the back of her neck.
A lady should not have to go into the countryside to search for flowers. The thought startled him. Maybe it was he who should not be looking for flowers. He opened his bag. “Legend has it that at the crucifixion of our Lord, when His blood dripped onto the moss at the base of the cross, roses grew.”
Ella looked up, startled. “I’ve never heard that.”
Graden felt compelled to hold her interest. And it was interest; there was no hate or condemnation. He wanted it to continue. “There is another ancient legend of a nightingale who loved the white rose.” Graden pulled out a small loaf of bread. He broke it in two and held one part out to her. “The little bird flew down and embraced the white rose and was pierced by her thorns. From the drops of the nightingale’s blood grew red roses.”
Ella rose and crossed to him, taking the bread with interest in her eyes.
Graden took a bite of his bread, trying to remember another lore about roses.
